Four Woodlanders' Quest
by Dark Nation42
Summary: This fanfic is about four woodlanders, drawn from their own corners of the planet to fight a common evil. Deltrath the evil white ermine is the new threat to Mossflower, and those brave enough must band together to fight him. Please R/R, and Ch. 5 is up.
1. CHAPTER ONE

(A/N: This entire fic takes place between Marlfox and Taggerung, for those who were wonderin')  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
Although it was only mid fall, already the weather was horridly cold. Frigid snows blasted across the white plain, and fierce winds blew through the sharp, harsh air. Not a creature stirred in this vast wasteland of cold, not a solitary bird winged through the sky. Snow clouds hovered dark and ominous. The far north was silent and glacial.  
  
But suddenly, out into the wintry land, a single creature emerged as if from nowhere. It stood out in stark contrast to its white, snowy background; as it was black, or would seem to be at a distance.  
  
The creature stood in the blizzard, untouched by the immense cold and blasting wind. It stood almost on top of the deep snow, its well-adapted paws acting like small snowshoes. It was pure white from tip almost to tail, which was, in fact, a glistening black at the end. The clothing it wore was pure black as well, and consisted of a long tunic and a silk cape. It had wicked almond-shaped eyes, seemingly black, but flecked with bright, startling green at closer notice. Shrewdness and iniquitous cunning was palpable in its presence. The harsh wind blew its cape astray, but it stood, smiling malevolently into the full face of the storm.  
  
It was an ermine, and his name was Deltrath Moonblade, and he was evil.  
  
In his left paw was an enormous sword. Long, slim, and slightly curved, it was at least as long as he was tall, but he carried it with ease and skill as if it were a featherweight. He clutched the black hilt tightly with a pure white paw, the glittering silver blade glowing dully in the snowy light.  
  
Deltrath was young, but he was sinewy, lithe, and powerful. The tall young ermine had outfought and bested any beast that had dared to challenge him in the cold northlands. He had lived in the northlands all his life; they were harsh and wicked lands, but that was the way that he liked his living. It was a challenge for everything in northlands, even for the right to live.  
  
He would best the winter again, now. It was only fall in the northlands, but the blizzards and storms would make one think it was midwinter. The ermine and his band were going to travel south, this time. Deltrath Moonblade and his army was not a traveling band, but that would soon change. He was going to travel south, far south; farther than any beast that far north had ever dared to travel. After all, Deltrath lived nearly at the top of the world.  
  
He was different from others of his kind. Since he had come from so far north, farther, in fact, than any other creature in his army, he never molted from his winter coat, he remained pure white year round. Deltrath had come from the land across the great Northern Sea, were there is no other season than winter. He even had a personal messenger, a wicked, scrawny starling named Talonflash. Now, the bird of that name wheeled in from the snowy sky, his glistening black plumage swept with wind and snow.  
  
"Rarrak! I am here at your bidding, master."  
  
"Good. Talonflash, I command you to fly for as long as it takes you to find the nearest inhabitable place! Then, fly farther, and survey the land. Find out as much as possible about the southern lands! Go, now!"  
  
The bird took to the skies and winged away, with a harsh cry of affirmative.  
  
But now, as Deltrath surveyed his land, he twirled his mighty blade with immense skillfulness through the air, slicing the very snow that fell, and roared at the top of his lungs.  
  
"Mooooonnnslaaaaaaayerrrrrrrss!"  
  
From behind the vast snowy hills his army emerged. They were not a ragtag band like many vermin hordes, but well-trained, well-kept battle- hardened soldiers, all of them cold-blooded killers, evil murderers all. Each one of them was cunning and smart, but always obedient. The vermin horde that sprung from the hills was no gang, either; it was a mighty army, as many as the leaves in an autumn gale. They were Deltrath's mighty army; they were his Moonslayers. Each wore a sort of uniform, a light gray tunic bearing a black insignia, together with a black shoulder belt, a mark of their well- trained organization. He had gathered them throughout the course of many seasons. His five Captains had personally trained them all in the art of war, and each of his Captains had been trained by he, Deltrath, the ultimate warlord.  
  
His soldiers consisted mostly of weasels, but also had a good scattering of ferrets, stoats and foxes. He had no other ermines in his army, as he considered ermines the strongest and smartest of all creatures, he therefore did not trust them.  
  
Deltrath Moonblade had finally made the decision to journey south. He and his vast army of slayers would travel far southward, killing every beast that dare to oppose them, until they would finally reach a destination where they could live in plenty.  
  
Deltrath leapt athletically onto a nearby snow-covered boulder. He waved his sword through the snow at his army, and roared, "Who is your master?"  
  
The answer came roared back at him. "Deltrath the Destroyer!"  
  
Deltrath howled at them, "What do we do?"  
  
Not a single one of his horde dared not to bellow back with gusto, "We destroooooyyyy!"  
  
Deltrath leapt down, satisfied. He smiled wickedly at his enormous army. "We go south!"  
  
A great howled bellow came from the army, shaking the very ground on which they stood. Paws stamped the ground and weapons waved into the air.  
  
Deltrath Moonblade turned and led his barbaric Moonslayers, embarking on their steady march southward, the dark form of the evil starling far ahead.  
  
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is only the beginning. Please review and I'll have Chapter Two up soon. I took down the other chapters to change them a bit. Anyhoo. Toodles.)  
  
~DISCLAIMER: I don't own Redwall. Duh. I only own the characters that I made up and the plot. Brian Jacques owns Redwall . . . bow to him.~ 


	2. CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO  
  
~Five Seasons Later~  
  
Extract from the writings of Brother Dwopple, official Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.  
  
What beautiful spring weather we have been having of late! Our Nameday feast is coming up soon for the spring, and our dear Abbess Songbreeze has still not chosen a name for this glorious season. Abbess Songbreeze seems still as young as the day she became the Mother of our abbey, and certainly twice as pretty. Such a kinder, gentler Abbess Redwall has never known. Her husband, the Champion Warrior, Dannflor Reguba, has hung the great sword of Martin up in Great Hall now, for we have had peace for over sixteen seasons now.  
  
The son of the Champion and the Abbess is growing up nicely, as he is now reached fourteen seasons old! Bracken Swifteye Reguba, he is called, and he is the spitting image of his father, except that he has his mother's eyes. He is such a good young creature. Dannflor has been giving him lessons on how to wield the sword of Martin, for it is only a matter of time before he must pass the title of Warrior onto his son, along with the sword. Young Bracken is surprisingly intelligent for such a young creature, though no less mischievous than his pals.  
  
Many of our old friends have gotten on in seasons and have passed to quieter fields: Janglur, Rusval and Rimrose, the parents of our Abbess and Champion; along with old Friar Butty and other good friends that we honor the memory of.  
  
Old Florian Dugglewoof provides endless entertainment to our Abbey, even in his old age. Other than myself, he is the only remaining member of the original Rambling Rosehip Players from Noonvale. The old walking feedbag seems to be of infinite age, all gray and feeble, but he lives on. The hare is still as gluttonous as he once was, though perhaps not quite as spry.  
  
Sollertree Cellarhog is the other truly ancient creature from the old days. Though still as powerful as he was in his prime, he has been known for great fits of forgetfulness. Ah well, I'm not exactly a young one anymore myself, so what am I saying?  
  
But surely the most elderly of our Abbey is Cregga Badgermum, seemingly indestructible, twice as old as the next oldest Redwaller. She just keeps on going; no other is as wise and kind as the old Badgermum.  
  
Log a log Dippler and his tribe visited with us last season to stay for the winter. What ceaseless bickering shrews must do! But the new Log a log is a good, just leader and manages his tribe well.  
  
Peace and plenty has been prominent of late. The feast is underway, and I am to be needed in the kitchen shortly. Although I'd much rather take a quick nap before heading off to work.  
  
*  
  
The mouse Recorder Dwopple folded his recording into a dust-covered book and stretched. Though he was a relatively young recorder, his joints were stiff from being cooped up in the Gatehouse for so long. The good mouse yawned and strode out into the spring sunlight, flicking a bee from his habit. He sat in the grass near the garden and stretched out full length, soaking in the sunlight until he fell fast asleep.  
  
Other creatures were sleepy that day, as well.  
  
Bracken Swifteye Reguba yawned and absentmindedly pawed at his quill and parchment. Redwall history was so boring, he thought. Sister Nettlebud the hedgehog was teaching the class, and though a good and kind Sister, she was infinitely monotonous in her teachings. Surrounded at her desk by old books and parchments, she sneezed twice in the vast quantities of dust that hovered upon everything, evident even in the sunrays that shone through the open windows.  
  
Bracken was a young squirrel, son of the Warrior of Redwall, Dannflor Reguba; and the Abbess of Redwall, Songbreeze Swifteye. It would seem that the son of two such creatures would be pressured by having such a lot to live up to, but Bracken took it all in stride. He was young yet, but a fast learner, and very smart for his age. He was tall and agile, and already able to take sword-fighting lessons from his father, the Redwall Champion, as it would someday be Bracken's turn to take the sword of Martin the Warrior and become the Abbey Champion.  
  
Though most of the other young pupils in the study room were doing their best to stay attentive, Bracken felt his eyelids dropping dangerously, and blinked, trying to stay awake. He was almost entirely asleep when he heard his name called out sharply. "Bracken!" The young squirrel was startled into wakefulness. Sister Nettlebud stood over him, looking severely through her tiny spectacles down her nose. "I am perfectly aware that it is a nice spring morning, but must you sleep? History is an important aspect of Redwall learning! Now, repeat what I've taught you about our Abbey Charter."  
  
Bracken knew the Charter easily. "To be Brothers and Sisters of peace and goodwill, living together in harmony under the protection of Redwall Abbey, forsaking all unnecessary forms of violence, not only to Mossflower, its trees, grasses, flowers and insects, but to all living creatures-"  
  
Obviously cheated of her chance to catch the young squirrel unawares, Nettlebud said crossly, "Yes, yes, okay. We all know that you know it, Bracken. Tregg! Please continue."  
  
Tregg was one of Bracken's friends, a young mischievous otter who didn't care much at all for Redwall History.  
  
"Um. . .lessee. . .ah! To help, and, er. . .comfort the diss. . .disspo. . .dispossessed, yes, and harbor orphans and waifs, um. . .oh, and offer shelter to. . .to. . .to. . ."  
  
The young otter shrugged, looking distressed. He said in a carefree manner, "Sorry, marm, I can't remember the rest."  
  
Sister Nettlebud glared severely at the sleepy class. "Oh, be off with you, you bunch o' lazy layabouts! Dismissed!"  
  
The class instantly came to life, leaping from desks and hurriedly stuffing quill and parchment into habits. Laughing and talking, the dozen or so young Redwallers made their ways out of the dusty Study into the bright spring sunlight.  
  
Tregg and Bracken strolled through the Abbey grounds, soaking in the early afternoon sunlight. The day was warm and a cool, refreshing breeze blew through the grasses. There was buzz and hubbub in the Abbey this day: the Nameday feast was to be in two days.  
  
Tregg flopped down under an apple tree in the orchard, nimbly avoiding a mouse who ran by with a large basket of apples. Bracken, like the nimble squirrel he was, shot straight up into the tree, plucking the rosiest apples as he went.  
  
He dropped down right in front of his otter friend's nose, who started. He accepted the apple that Bracken handed to him, took a bite, and chewed reflectively. "D'you think we should offer t'help out in the kitchen, mate?"  
  
Bracken grinned. "I don't know about offering to help out. Ol' Friar Guster is sure to make us wash pots, as usual."  
  
Tregg nodded in agreement, imagining the huge, fat otter friar hauling them off to wash the cooking pots. "That's true, mate. Why don't we see if they gots any vittles about, and see if we can filch a candied chestnut or two."  
  
"And if we're asked why we're there, we'll simply say that Soll Cellerhog sent us down for some strawberry cordial, and that we're just passing through."  
  
The two young creatures ran off across the abbey lawn, giggling like naughty Dibbuns.  
  
The kitchen was a myriad of confusion. Steam rose from ovens and multitudes of creatures ran hither and thither, each with his or her specified task. Friar Guster, an immensely fat, jolly otter with a wispy gray mustache, directed them all, yelling above the hubbub.  
  
"Miven, get those chestnuts chopped and candied, right away!"  
  
"I can't find the honey, Friar."  
  
"Benjar, get that honey back here this instant! Don't make me tan your tail!"  
  
"I didn't take it, Friar."  
  
"Skencer, chop that celery lengthwise, then crosswise. Pertelot, how's that custard coming along?"  
  
Bracken darted through, ducking around passing creatures. Skencer, a squirrel younger than Bracken, came running by with a huge armful of celery sticks. He winked at Bracken as he gasped, "Gimme a paw here, will ya?"  
  
Bracken helped Skencer carry the celery to the chopping counter before darting off again. He nearly tripped over Benjar the mole as he licked his sticky digging claws, savoring the honey. "Hey, Ben!" Bracken called as he leapt over the mole and purloined a pawful of blueberries from the counter. Benjar called over, "Hurr, Brack ol' mate, cummere." Bracken bounded over to the mole who gave him a pawful of candied chestnuts. "Take these 'uns. Oi hunnied 'em moiself."  
  
"Thanks, mate!" Bracken stuffed the nuts into his habit pouch and skirted around the central kitchen counter. There, perched at the corner of the counter, was the real prize: a huge bowl of golden meadowcream, stern old Sister Miven guarding it with a hefty wooden spoon. As she saw Bracken amble nonchalantly by, the old mouse waved the spoon at him warningly. "You touch this cream, young 'un, and I'll take my spoon to you!"  
  
Bracken adopted a look of injured innocence. "What, me? Do I look like the kind of creature to steal food off of an honest, hardworking mousewife?"  
  
Old Miven allowed a ghost of a smile at the squirrel's appeasing words. "I'm sorry, Bracken, I didn't mean to accuse you. It's only that lately, things seem to be going missing from the kitchen. I'd suppose it's that old long-eared scoffbag hare."  
  
When Miven turned away, Bracken motioned Tregg the otter to come up behind her from the door. He slid silently up, and suddenly Bracken yelled, "Somebeast's stolen the pies that were cooling on the windowsill!"  
  
Miven grabbed her spoon and narrowed her eyes dangerously, taking off quickly toward the window, muttering, "Why, you filthy food-filchin' rabbit, I swear I'll. . ."  
  
Tregg and Bracken dove headfirst into the bowl of cream, grabbing giant pawfuls and eating up the sticky sweetness.  
  
As soon as Miven turned back, the two young ones slid silently off, cream sticking to their whiskers and ears.  
  
As soon as they had sneaked a large yellow cheese from the counter, Tregg and Bracken felt a heavy paw descend on their napes. They turned guiltily to the face of Sollertree the giant hedgehog, the father of Sister Nettlebud and the cellar keeper. A white, wispy beard streamed from his snout, and his eyes peered out from heavy brows, and as old as he was, he was still huge and powerful. A giant firkin of elderberry wine was held under one arm.  
  
He shook the two miscreants by the napes and growled, "What are you two liddle misbehavin' filchers doin' in the kitchen stealin' cheeses? Out, out, out! There's work to be done in here and you are certainly not helpin'. Now git, if you wants a feast!"  
  
Bracken and Tregg were thrown out onto the lawn. The young squirrel rubbed the back of his neck sullenly. "Ah, what's the difference. Here, have some blueberries."  
  
Tregg sighed and leaned against the sun-warmed stonewall of the main abbey building. He said, "There's nothin' t'do, round here, when feasts are goin' on and they won't allow us in the kitchens, eh, mate."  
  
Bracken sprang up. "Let's go see what Foremole is doing."  
  
Foremole Blenn was, in fact, digging a larch trench in the back abbey lawn for the baking pit. Dirt flew as the industrious mole crew sang a gruff digging ditty in time with their work.  
  
"Lif' that dirt,  
  
That's what we do,  
  
Move soil gurt,  
  
'eave, Mole Crew!"  
  
Foremole climbed out of the pit and tugged his snout respectfully at Bracken. "Hurr hurr, whoi don't you and yurr otter pal get oi an' moi crew some lunchin' vittles, zurr?"  
  
"Certainly, Foremole! As long as I'm in the kitchen for somebeast else, they won't make me leave." Bracken said smartly and sprinted back to the kitchen. Moments later he was back with a tray laden with cheese, summer salad, and blueberry crumble for the moles.  
  
Formole took a portion of it, leaving the remainder on the tray. He waved Tregg and Bracken off, saying, "You zurrs enjoy yurr vittles and leave the goodbeasts alone, hurr."  
  
"Thanks, Foremole!"  
  
The two friends ate their snack with gusto in the shady orchard.  
  
Later they ambled aimlessly around the abbey, searching in vain for some other source of entertainment. They finally ended up in the gatehouse, where Bracken's mother and father were relaxing.  
  
The young squirrel tossed himself into an overstuffed armchair and Tregg sat bouncily on the bed. The Abbess of Redwall sat in a rocking chair near the window, reading a bit of parchment; her tiny spectacles perched on the very end of her nose. Dannflor Reguba, the Warrior, stood by a bureau, rifling through parchments. The two looked up when they young ones entered.  
  
Songbreeze smiled and said, "Hello, Bracken. Hi, Tregg. What brings you here?"  
  
Bracken shrugged in response to his mother. "We're kind of bored. They won't let us in the kitchen and all of our other friends are busy in some way or another."  
  
The Warrior turned to his son and his friend. "Son, why don't you and Tregg collect some mint leaves by the rocks in the woodlands? That's not too far away, and I know that Friar Guster needs some mint leaves for his Great Hall Cake."  
  
The squirrel and the otter jumped up enthusiastically. "Sure, we'll go. Be back in a jiffy!"  
  
The pair let themselves out by the east gate. The rocks were only about a half hour's walk from Redwall, so it wouldn't take them long. Bracken had a small wicker basket that he was taking to gather the mint.  
  
The two friends skipped through the pathway leading into the dense forest of Mossflower. Spring sunlight streamed through the newly leaved trees of the wood, and a cool spring breeze ruffled branches and bushes. It was a beautiful, cloudless day in Mossflower country.  
  
Otter and squirrel laughed and cavorted through the forest trail, soaking in the beauty and joy of the glorious day. The younger creatures were rarely let out of the abbey without an adult escort, and the two friends were taking full advantage of this rare privilege. Though long out of Dibbun stage, Bracken and Tregg were acting like very young creatures in their euphoria. Cartwheeling and leaping through the leaves, they giggled pounced on each other in their happiness. Tossing off his habit, Tregg leapt headfirst into a small path side pond and streaked under the water like a long, furry harpoon, then breaking the surface with such velocity that water sprayed in all directions and droplets rolled down his sleek head. Bracken darted up the highest poplar in the proximity and down again, naught but a blurry reddish streak.  
  
After about an hour of playing aimlessly through the forest, Bracken suddenly stopped in mid-race. He was a good deal ahead of his friend the otter, but he slowed halfway through and looked slowly up at the early evening sky.  
  
"Did you see that, Tregg?" He asked, gazing upwards.  
  
The otter caught up with Bracken, panting slightly. "See what?" He said, following his friend's gaze.  
  
"A dark shape just flew over, low over the woodlands, like some great bird."  
  
Tregg shrugged. "Prob'ly just a crow."  
  
Bracken picked up the wicker basket and started to follow the pathway again through the slightly darkening forest. "We better get the mint leaves and hurry back to the abbey. We've been gone for a long while."  
  
The two friends set off at a quick jog through the path to the rock outcropping. The sky overtop was beginning to fade to a light red and golden color. After a while of walking in silence they were able to make it to the outcropping. Skipping among the rocks, they picked mint leaves at their leisure. All was well and they had a full basket of leaves when suddenly, the thunderbolt struck.  
  
In a gigantic whoosh of black feathers and raucous squawking, a big dark bird fell from the sky like a bolt of lightning, attaching its scaly talons deep into the area between Bracken's shoulders.  
  
"Aaaarrrrrggghhh!" He roared and whirled around. Tregg yelled and leapt at the bird, punching it wildly, but the bird gave a mighty whoosh of its wings and lifted Bracken clear off the ground.  
  
Hanging a foot or two off the ground by the talons embedded in his back, Bracken howled in pain and rage. The bird dropped him into the dust and rocketed at the young otter. Tregg leapt back swiftly, but not swiftly enough: the large black bird dealt him a mighty blow over the head with his great yellow beak, stunning him and knocking him flat.  
  
The bird turned to attack Bracken again. But the young squirrel was not a warrior's son for nothing; he grabbed two heavy stones from the outcropping and leapt nimbly around the rocks. When the big crow-like bird made a stab at him, Bracken dodged quickly aside and brought both of the stones down hard on its head. The force of the blow sent shockwaves up Bracken's paws, but it had the needed effect: the bird toppled sideways off of the rock, landing in a crumbled heap in the dust below.  
  
But the bird was made of stern stuff, and in a moment had righted itself sufficiently and was just about to attack again when Bracken leapt from the rock in a wide arc, bringing both footpaws down with crushing force and accuracy between the eyes of the feathered fowl.  
  
That knocked it out entirely. It crumpled back into the dust, depleted and unconscious. Tregg groaned and sat up, rubbing his head. But Bracken was not quite as well off after the brief fight: the bird's talons had done their work, and a steady stream of blood cascaded down the torn back of Bracken's tunic. He moaned in pain and fell to all fours.  
  
Tregg rushed to him. "You okay, matey?" Bracken groaned in response, reaching behind him and touching the huge gash in his back. He stared soundlessly, as if in a stupor, at the blood that came away on his paw.  
  
Tregg struggled to right him. The young otter was of no great strength, but he was able to half drag half carry his friend off of the rock pile and under the safety and cover of Mossflower.  
  
Light was fading from the sky, and they were still a ways from the abbey. Though his temple still throbbed soundly, Tregg was okay; he wasn't, however, entirely sure about his comrade. Bracken was in great pain, and the bleeding wouldn't stop. Tregg could see his friend getting weak from loss of blood and finally said, "Alright, Bracken, grit your teeth and 'old on, cuz I'm a-carryin' you back to the abbey whether you likes it or not."  
  
He hoisted Bracken over his shoulder, who moaned and then lay still. Half running, have staggering, Tregg made it through the evening back to the safety of the abbey.  
  
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry, it starts out a little slow. I promise it'll get better!) 


	3. CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE  
  
When Bracken awoke, clean white sheets were nestled into his body and his head was resting on a soft white pillow. His back felt much better, though it still throbbed with a steady beat of far-off pain. He blinked and opened his eyes. He was in the abbey infirmary, and it was dark outside, the black sky studded with stars. In the bed next to him lay his otter friend Tregg, still asleep and snoring gently.  
  
Bracken felt a lot better. He climbed out of bed and stretched. He was hungry. He was just about to go down to see if anything was left from supper when he noticed a tray at the bedside stand, laden with almond- studded cheeses, two small portions of custard, a fruit salad and two beakers of sparkling cold strawberry cordial. Bracken took his portion and sat on his bed, looking out the window at the stars and chewing reflectively on his cheese.  
  
A moment later Tregg snuffled and said in the darkness, "Bracken, mate, you awake?"  
  
Bracken moved the candle nearer. "Yeah, I'm awake. Are you feeling okay? What happened?"  
  
Tregg attacked his food with gusto, and said through a mouthful of salad, "Mrf, scrumph, gulp. Yeah, I'm all right. I barely got you back to th' abbey afore I collapsed. Head wound, y'know. You were long outta it by the time the Abbess opened the gate fer us. They stuck us both up here with no supper."  
  
Bracken swallowed his salad regretfully and took a swig of cordial. "That bird," he said, "What was that bird that attacked us? And why?"  
  
The otter shrugged. "Search me. I think it was some sort of crow, maybe a starling. Don't they live far up north, though? What would one be doing down 'ere?"  
  
"I certainly wonder why it attacked us," the young squirrel said. Then, "How long have we been asleep?"  
  
Tregg said, "A while. I'd imagine it's nearly morn. We could nip down early fer some brekkers."  
  
Bracken stood up, and as he did so he noticed the bandage under his new tunic. "That must have been a bad cut."  
  
The two friends tiptoed quietly out of the infirmary and slunk down the stairs. They walked through the silent darkness of Great Hall and to the kitchen. As they reached the door, Bracken stopped. "Hear that?" he said. "What?" Tregg replied loudly.  
  
"Ssh! It's gone now. It was some sort of scrabbling, I think. Somebeast's in there."  
  
They pushed the door open silently. There, positioned squarely on the central countertop, beak submerged in a big custard pie, was the bird that had attacked them earlier that day.  
  
Bracken was about to slink away and get his father and mother, but before he could do anything Tregg roared, "Get that bird!" He tore across the kitchen and made a mad grab for the starling. It squawked noisily and backed off abruptly, leaving Tregg nose-first in the pie. Dripping custard, the otter chased the bird around the kitchen, pans clanging loudly, silverware crashing to the floor, vegetable scraps littering the floor. Bracken tried to get away but slipped on a spilt jar of hucklejuice, skidding across the floor and hitting a bag of flour full force, sending him off-balanced and teetering into the counter.  
  
Tregg bounded through the other door, chasing the crazed starling through Great Hall.  
  
Bracken coughed as clouds of flour rose into the air. He was sitting awkwardly amid a heap of custard, flour covering him from tip to tail, sticking to the juice that covered him as well. Custard and pie crust crumbs stuck to his fur.  
  
Friar Guster burst through the door, his vast stomach heaving with exertion. "What in the name of fur and claw is going on down here?" He gasped, waving a rolling pin.  
  
"Bracken!" He cried, "Of all creatures! What ever are you doing? What have you done to my kitchen? What is the meaning of this?!" He waved the pin wildly, pointing it accusingly at the floured young squirrel, who hastily tried to explain, "There was a bird, a big one, like a crow, in the kitchen, and Tregg and I, we saw it, and Tregg-"  
  
"Enough! Don't give me this poppycock about giant birds and your daft otter friend! Excuses, excuses! Come with me, young squirrel, we'll let your parents deal with this matter!"  
  
"No, I swear!" Bracken growled as the fat mouse grabbed him by the ear and wrenched him up. "There was a starling! It's still in the abbey! Tregg is trying to catch it."  
  
As the abbey knew him as a smart, sensible young creature, Bracken was listened to in most cases. The Friar acknowledged this, and glared accusingly at him. "Bird, eh?" Let me rouse your father, he'll deal with this bird that you speak of, if it is so that you aren't lying to me, young scamp."  
  
With a final aerial stab of the rolling pin, the fat little Friar waddled out of the kitchen, yelling back, "You clean up this mess and get yourself cleaned up and I won't mention this to the Abbess!"  
  
Bracken, muttering crossly to himself, began to pick up the pans from the floor. "Daft old mouse, wouldn't know a bird if it nested in his robe. Wouldn't care if Mom knew anyway, she always believes me, so does Dad, when he's not in a mood."  
  
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one was kinda short. . .still a little slow, too. . .I SWEAR it'll get more interesting soon!) 


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR  
  
Far across the mighty expanses of plains and grasslands, mountains and rivers, lay the monolith of Salamandastron, ancestral home to hares and badgers. Rising up against the morning sky, waves crashing at its base, the great former volcano was a protector of the western shores, barricade against searats and vermin corsairs. Ruled throughout vast ages by warlike male badgers, Salamandastron was now home to a family of them.  
  
Russano the Wise was getting on in years, but certainly didn't look or act it. Many knew him as the wisest and kindest badger of all time. Tall and slim for a badger, he was still vastly powerful and strong, but the only weapon that he carried was a single hardwood stick. His wife Rosalaun, a pretty badger, had been a wanderer until stopping many seasons ago at the mountain. The pair had two offspring, young Snowstripe and his older sister Melanius.  
  
Now the Badger Lord Russano stood at the eastern window in his bedchamber, worry etched upon his rough face. Speedwell had been gone for three days now. The young hare had reason to be upset, with his brother being recently killed, but that was no reason to run away. Salamandastron had seen hard times of late, and Russano did not like Speedwell adding more worry to the mountain.  
  
Speedwell and his brother, Buckweed, were orphans, both of his parents being killed in a searat raid just after his birth. Russano had raised him and Buckweed along with his own two young ones. Thinking back, Russano brought his paw down hard on the windowsill.  
  
Curse those vermin! Not two weeks ago the mountain had been sabotaged by mysterious unknown creatures. The Badger Lord was infuriated at how they could've gotten in, having all the exits blocked, sealed and guarded. Russano had been roused by a night guard, who just after had been slain by an enemy sword thrust. The guard hare had shouted that there were a small gang of vermin in the mountain just before he went down at trying to defend against them. What the evil vermin were after was still not entirely evident; they had left without taking a thing except for the lives of two gallant hares. Roused by the night guard's cry, Buckweed had come to his assistance, only to be felled by the long sword of a shadowed creature. Russano had seen that happen, as he tore down the hall from his chamber, roaring with grief and anger. The vermin had retreated without a sound, fleeing from the mountain and gone.  
  
The puzzling rapidness and suddenness of the brutal attack sent waves of grief and fear through the mountain. Salamandastron was now home to more young creatures than usual, as Russano was greatly fond of leverets. The unexpected and speedy invasion had made the inhabitants of Salamandastron greatly fearful. Russano had sent out a tracking party of a score of his best tracking and fighting hares, and they were to return to him in as little time as possible.  
  
Although the entire mountain was traumatized by the attack, nobeast had taken it with more force than Speedwell the young hare. The only family that he had left had been slain, and he was left alone with nobeast. Without a second thought he had fled the mountain, taking with him a satchel of provisions and his special weapon, the dirk that had once belonged to his grandsire, Tamello de Fformelo Tussock, who had been one of the greatest Long Patrol officers in the history of Salamandastron.  
  
A separate search party had been set out in search of him, a trio of tracker hares. They were to bring him back immediately. Where he was headed Russano did not know, but he knew that he was driven merely by grief, and it distressed the Badger Lord greatly.  
  
Russano was not known for anger; in fact, he was one of the few Badger Lords known that were not possessed by the Bloodwrath. However, the recent incidents had brought forth a bubble of rage that Russano was previously unaware of.  
  
His wife, Rosalaun, was still asleep, as were his son and daughter in the next room. The sun was just coming up over the eastern sea, spreading rays of gold and scarlet across the sky and water. The Badger Lord clutched his polished hardwood stick tight, imagining the day when he could confront the vermin that had invaded his mountain.  
  
With a swish of his cloak, he strode from the bedchamber and down the flight of stone stairs.  
  
When he entered the dining hall, a small amount of hares had already woken and come down to wait for the cooks to arouse and come down to make breakfast. As young hares often sleep late, the hall contained half a score or so of older veterans. Lounging about in chairs and chattering about bygone battles and departed days, they looked up and fell silent when Russano entered the hall.  
  
"Good morning, sire," greeted a withered old fighter, Colonel Sandoak. Though certainly getting on in seasons, Sandoak was a tough, wiry fighter and one of the best boxing hares on the mountain. He had a wife, who sat by her husband, the pretty Rockivy. Known throughout the mountain as Ivy, she was the head cook at the mountain, although she had been a formidable fighter in her time. The two had no offspring. Blake Thornstone was a dashing middle-aged hare, who leaned back with his paws crossed behind his head, in the chair to the right of Sandoak. He was the head Eighth Spring Galloper for Salamandastron. Blake wasn't married, but many of the mountain's female hares fancied him. Across the table from Blake sat Gangorn Willthrep, a hulking, powerful hare. He was the Garrison Captain of the mountain, and carried with him as his weapon a tremendous, formidable spear.  
  
Russano nodded curtly at his hares and looked over them all with a fearsome gaze. It was amazing how much his attitude had changed with the mysterious incidents at the mountain lately. "Has either search party returned yet?" He asked.  
  
Colonel shook his head sadly. "'Fraid not, sah. Neither the one for the vermin nor the young 'un."  
  
A deep growl manifested itself in the back of the Badger Lord's throat. He sat down in his great central chair, bringing his clenched paw down forcefully on the oaken table. "I hate this waiting! Cannot anything be done about this? Speedwell is young, and he is alone out there. What if the receding band of vermin has caught up with him? That puts my hares in danger as well." He looked around at his circle of hares. Blake Thornstone opened his mouth to reply but Russano cut him off. "If at least one of the parties does not return by sunset tomorrow, I'm going out to look for them myself."  
  
Blake continued. "I'd advise against it, sah. If the vermin return, you'll be needed here to guard the mountain."  
  
Russano shook his great striped head. "I have a feeling that that won't be happening, Blake. I think I understand what the vermin were after, now that I've thought about it. They were looking for something, and they didn't find it. They only killed two of my best hares because they got in the way of their search."  
  
Bitter tears welled in his angry eyes. He wiped them away with a paw before standing again. "There's nothing that I can do; I feel so useless!"  
  
At that moment all heads looked up to the stairs as Russano's young daughter, Melanius, appeared, still in her nightshirt. "Father," she said urgently, "The sentries have just pinpointed a lone figure appearing over the horizon."  
  
Russano muttered, "Speedwell," before leaping up and racing up the stairs behind his daughter.  
  
Melanius was one of Speedwell's few friends at the mountain. The clever young badger and the misfit hare where roughly of the same age, and they had chummed up long ago. She had worried greatly when he had disappeared, telling not even her.  
  
He arrived in his bedchamber. His wife, Rosalaun, and his son, Snowstripe, were out of bed and dressed. Rosalaun was a smaller, petite badger that was very pretty, kind, and generally soft-spoken. Little Snowstripe, who wasn't too far out of Dibbunhood, attached himself around his father's footpaws. "Papa, papa," he said. "Speedwell is coming back."  
  
Rosalaun smiled wanly at her husband. "The sentry has just informed us that the rescue party is following Speedwell. I suppose that they found him. Either way, he's coming home."  
  
Russano furrowed his brow and looked down, puzzled. "Yes...home." He looked up and out the window. Speedwell was approaching, nevertheless, and close behind him came the party of the three long-loping Gallopers. At the sight, Russano felt a great weight life from his heart. But there was something else bothering him; something that told him that this wasn't going to be that easy.  
  
Gathering his family, Snowstripe scooped up in one powerful arm, he strode down the narrow stone stairway.  
  
He met Speedwell and the trackers at the Salamandastron gateway. In many seasons past the doorway had been replaced by a great stone gate. Russano stood in the opening, watching grimly as Speedwell approached him, with his son in his arms and his wife, daughter, and Colonel Sandoak behind him.  
  
Backed by the three tall, lithe Gallopers, Speedwell came from a lope to a steady jog and finally to stop, right in front of the Badger Lord. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment. Young Snowstripe piped up happily, "Speedwell's back!" Rosalaun took him from Russano's arms and hushed him quietly.  
  
Speedwell nodded briefly at the patient trackers. "Any sign of the vermin?" The lead tracker, second in the mountain only to Blake, was known as Rontu Southpaw. Rontu replied, "No, sah. No tracks, so scent, so sign."  
  
He nodded dismissal to the trackers and they marched quickly into the passage. He nodded to his wife as well, and she retreated into the mountain, saying, "Yes, I'll help Ivy get breakfast ready."  
  
Russano walked out into the sand and shut the gate. The sun was rising over the horizon and a cool spring breeze blew across the sand, promising a beautiful day. The Badger Lord said quietly to the young hare, "Let's take a stroll along the shore, shall we?" Speedwell averted his eyes, almost ashamed. "Yes sah," he said submissively.  
  
They walked side by side, the old badger and the young hare, in silence. Finally Russano said, "So why did you run away, young 'un?"  
  
Speedwell kept his head down as he replied, "I don't know."  
  
Russano stopped and turned toward the young hare. He stared at him quizzically. "Yes you do, son. You run from my mountain, in the midst of impending danger, adding a huge worry to my mind. I was just about to go out looking for you myself, you caused me so much stress, while I have enough on my mind lately with the vermin invasion. I think that I at least have the liberty of knowing why you ran away."  
  
Speedwell's ears drooped further, and he hung his head lower. Bitter tears welled in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I just wanted to get out, and leave for a while. I just wanted to get away."  
  
Russano's heart went out to the young misfit. He took Speedwell's paw in his huge one. "I understand, my young friend. I've wanted to be alone myself in the past. But you see, you have a duty to this mountain, as do I, as do we all. You may be a great general or captain in my Long Patrol someday. I see great beginnings in you, Speedwell De Formelo Tussock. I was a mere infant when I met your grandsire for the first time, but I grew to know him well in later life. You are the spitting image of that great warrior. But.you have your mother's eyes."  
  
Speedwell sniffed and wiped his nose on the hem of his tunic. Russano continued. "You will be a great, perilous warrior someday. The weapon you carry once belonged to your grandsire, you know?" Speedwell nodded lowly, pawing the handle of his dirk. Russano gazed at the hare, waiting reply. Finally the young one said, "But, sir, you don't understand. All my family is dead. I feel alone. I. . .I'm not happy here anymore, sire."  
  
Russano's heart had known this all alone. The great striped head nodded slowly, infinite sadness reflected upon the badger's face. He said slowly, "I understand, young Speedwell. My personal ethics prohibit me from forbidding you to leave. You have come of age. If you feel the call of the open plains, the wanderer's life. . .then, I cannot force you to stay."  
  
Speedwell choked back tears. "I don't want to leave," he said sorrowfully. "But I have to. All my family died at this mountain. I need to see more. This place holds terrible memories for me. I want a new life. I want to start over."  
  
With heavy heart, the Badger Lord turned back to his mountain with the young hare in his wake.  
  
Melanius, who had heard everything from the window ledge of her bedchamber, knew exactly what she would do. Her brother and mother were down in the dining hall with the rest of the mountain's hare population, so there was no one to stop her, for the time being, anyway. She sought out her satchel and loaded it with food and supplies, then darted down the stairs.  
  
She met the returning two at the gateway. Russano's gaze went to the satchel in her daughter's paw, then to her face. She stared him square in the eyes and announced, "Father, I'm going with Speedwell."  
  
Russano blinked. "Melanius."  
  
"Please, Father! You know that my lifelong dream is to see the world. He is my best friend, and he's going to leave whether you like it or not. He needs company, he needs a friend, he needs support! Imagine him all alone out there. Anyway, I want...I need to see the world. I can't live my whole life at the mountain! I'm old enough, am I not? Please Father, you must understand."  
  
Melanius hadn't realized that with her bold little speech, instead of persuading her father to let her go, she had unwittingly made him not want either to go. He was the Badger Lord after all. He had the power to stop Speedwell from leaving, and especially his own daughter.  
  
"Mel. . .I can't let you leave. You are my daughter, and Speedwell, you are like a son to me. Melanius, you are only beginning your life at the mountain. We teach you our ways, we bring you up with the code of Badger Lords. . .you and your brother will have to rule in my place someday."  
  
Gazing imploringly at Speedwell, Melanius continued, "But Father! Snowstripe will rule in your place, not I. I am not going to grow up to be the kitchen maid! Father, there is a place in the world for me. This mountain isn't it!"  
  
A great and familiar sadness descended upon the Badger Lord. His own daughter, whom he cherished so much. . .practically begging him to let her leave.  
  
Russano sighed heavily. "So be it," he said softly, his voice lined with pain. "So be it."  
  
A few hours later, two lone shapes could be seen making their way across the shore of Salamandastron to the east, heading toward the rising sun.  
  
A solitary figure stood at the gate of the mountain. He stared out at the receding young pair, his eyes full of sadness and pain. Unshed tears dampening his eyes, Russano said out loud in a voice barely above a whisper, "May the fates keep them safe."  
  
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ah. Now it starts to get a little bit interesting. Read onward!) 


End file.
